The Secret Meaning of Blossom: a fast-moving spy thriller set in Japan

by T. M. Parris

  “Like clockwork?”

  She sounded content, undamaged by the life she’d led, the dangers she’d been exposed to. “It’s not impossible,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You don’t have to let it destroy you, this life. You can let it go. It’s not so bad being normal.”

  It was good advice. Others had offered it. But too many questions still remained. And now he had Rose to think about too.

  “My parents had a Japanese print,” he said. “I remember it being on the wall in a number of places we lived. They specifically left it to me. Not just as part of their estate but separately, named. What was special about that print?”

  She was looking at the horizon, remembering. Maybe she was sitting in the kitchen again, laughing with his mother. “Cherry blossom? A bridge over a river? I remember. It was just a print.”

  Fairchild shook his head. “Sutherland had one just like it. I found it in his apartment in Monaco. He had a third one as well. They’re part of a set. It’s not just a print, Penny.”

  A bland look. “You think they’re sending you some kind of message?” There was no hint of humour, but still, she made it sound ridiculous.

  “Those prints must mean something. I thought you might know about it. You were a family friend.”

  “It’s in the past, John. Years in the past and Sutherland’s a spent force. Live in the present. Try and fit in somewhere. You could, you know.”

  She seemed to read his DNA, see his ever-shifting restlessness. He always told himself he didn’t want to feel at home, that he liked it this way.

  “They wanted you to have a life, you know,” she said. “That’s why they went to all that trouble. Think about it. But now you’re wondering if I’m discouraging you because there’s something to find. Well, you’ll do what you want.”

  The words were harsh but the tone light. They’d run out of squash. She didn’t offer to get any more.

  “I was just asking if you knew anything about it.”

  “I said I didn’t know anything, didn’t I?”

  “Actually, you didn’t. But you’ve given me something to think about.” He stood. “I will be back, Penny.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will be.” She sounded resigned.

  They kissed cheek-to-cheek.

  “What was the answer, by the way?” she asked. “The British Museum? What connects them all?”

  “Oh! The East Stairs.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, Edward!”

  He walked down the cobbled steps. She knew more than she was saying, and she knew that he knew that. As he’d said to her, he’d be back. But right now he had a plane to catch.

  When he glanced back she was staring up at the sky, pulling her cardigan closer around her as the wind grew.

  Chapter 4

  Fairchild’s flight to Tokyo stopped over in Taipei. He made twenty-four hours of it and looked up a few of his contacts there. No particular reason to, but now wasn’t a time to neglect any part of his network. Those relationships needed nurturing right across the world, and it had to be done face to face. He had no permanent base; he was constantly on the move. This was what he did. Also, he’d heard that Zack was in Taiwan. So, after getting a few hours’ sleep in an overpriced hotel suite, he took to the streets. Taipei was one of his favourite cities, cleaner than Beijing, more down-to-earth than Tokyo, livelier than Seoul, and the island was a mountainous green gem. Its political ambiguity left it partially undiscovered – long may it remain so, was his view.

  Eventually, late evening, he headed for the Da’an district. Zack was propping up the bar at Carnegie’s. He wasn’t as relaxed as he looked. He had a habit of hanging around popular expat haunts to see who was passing through and keep up to speed. He made himself easy to find. Having established Zack was in Taipei, Fairchild knew exactly where to look for him.

  “Fairchild, my man! Nice surprise. Sit down. Have a gin. I may even pay for it.”

  Zack had deep pockets provided by the CIA or some related branch of US security services. He’d given Fairchild a good amount of work over the years, all unofficial of course. Zack was the closest thing Fairchild had to a best friend, though they often went for months without hearing from each other.

  “So how are things?” Fairchild asked.

  “Tense, is how things are. Getting tenser and tenser.”

  “South China Sea, is it?”

  “Can’t confirm or deny.” He took a swig of beer.

  “Understood.”

  With a military background Zack often played liaison between civilian and military intelligence. He was at home on a US base as much as anywhere else. It was no surprise to find him in this region of the world. Zack knew it well.

  “So you have a reason to be here?” asked Zack. “Other than dropping in to see me, of course.”

  “Stopping over. I’m on my way to Tokyo.”

  “Tokyo! Great place. Haven’t been in years. What’s going on there?”

  “Trade Winds is opening there. I’m going for the launch party.”

  “Trade Winds? You mean that tacky overpriced theme park posing as a cocktail bar is actually expanding?”

  “Cocktail bar and restaurant. And yes, it’s doing very well. My most successful investment in Asia as of now. Consider yourself invited.”

  “No thanks. Even if I wanted to, I’m kind of busy here. Mighty big of you to take such an active interest in your business. Mostly you just leave them to it.”

  “I like to drop in and keep an eye on things. When it suits me.”

  “Ha! And it suits you to go to Tokyo?” Zack certainly knew him well.

  “There may be another reason too.”

  “Oh yeah?” Zack drew his bar stool closer in a conspiratorial way. Given the size of him it was like conspiring with a wall. Or an aloha-patterned blanket, given Zack’s preference for loud shirts.

  “Tell me it’s not about this woman,” he said.

  “What woman?” Fairchild sipped a very long gin and tonic.

  “Oh, please. Rose Clarke of course. The one who always seems to be bad news. Yet she’s always around.”

  Zack had been wary of Rose since their paths crossed for the first time. And again he’d guessed right that Rose was a part of this. But he’d been sworn to secrecy. Rose had shared her suspicions with no one except him. That was something that made him feel warm inside when he thought about it.

  “Last time I saw Rose Clarke she told me she’d resigned,” Fairchild said.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” It was actually true. “Though I’ve heard rumours she’s still doing ops with MI6 in Paris.”

  “Right. So she lied.”

  “Maybe. Or she changed her mind. Either way, she’s not part of this.”

  And that was true as well, in that she wasn’t going to be in Tokyo. He told Zack about the Japanese prints. The American’s face, as much of it as he could see around the mirrored shades, registered a distinct lack of interest.

  “Your folks had a painting.”

  “A print.”

  “Whatever. And this guy had one as well. And you think this means something because Mum and Dad liked to do things the complicated way. They’re sending you a message from beyond the grave.” For a moment he sounded oddly like Penny Galloway.

  “Well, I don’t know, Zack. But it seemed to matter to them. I spoke to an old family friend of theirs recently. She said something that I’ve always wondered about, that they were preparing me for something.”

  “Preparing you for this guy, Fairchild! This Grom character. And it worked! Because he’s now powerless and hiding somewhere. Consider yourself prepared. You won, didn’t you? You got your answers. You know why it all happened. What more can there be?”

  Logically Zack was right. Fairchild drank instead of responding.

  “Look.” Zack took on the manner of a sympathetic family doctor. “You’re in the habit of finding things out, digging for secrets. It’s your job now. You made your life about
that. But the reason you did all that doesn’t exist any more. You got your answers. You know what happened to your parents. Now keep on doing the work if you like it, you’re good enough at it. You’re unique. A deniable gun-wielding information mercenary with dubious connections and a death wish. Who could be more employable? But forget the personal stuff. Move on. Oh hell, how many times have I said that to you? Did it ever make any difference?”

  “People are still holding out, Zack. There’s more to tell.”

  “What people? MI6 people? That’s just the way spies talk. They like to generate mystique. Doesn’t mean they know anything. It could all be for nothing. Probably is.”

  “Yes, probably is,” said Fairchild philosophically. “In which case it won’t have done any harm. How did it go with Quesada by the way?”

  Fairchild’s last assignment for Zack was to ensure that a notoriously violent drug baron ended up behind bars. It failed. But Fairchild was hoping a new contact he’d introduced to Zack from the world of offshore financing would help.

  “Yeah, I meant to say. Your pal Zoe worked wonders. We tracked down a huge part of his business and the lawyers are now saying we can make a case. Pretty impressive lady you got there.”

  Zack was right about that. When Fairchild met Zoe she was an administrative assistant in a bank. By the time they parted she was a multi-millionaire, confidently playing the criminals at their own game. That she was now permanently on the wrong side of the law didn’t bother him, or Zack. Zack knew when rules mattered and when they didn’t. It was one of the reasons Fairchild liked the guy. Fairchild also liked Zoe, but that didn’t last. Rose was the only woman who would mean anything to him, he realised that now.

  “Sounds like you owe me, then,” he said. He got up. Zack would probably be here until the early hours but Fairchild had more people to see. “You’re welcome in Trade Winds any time.”

  “No time, believe me,” said Zack. “Hey. Avoid that woman. And forget about the past. What’s done is done, right?”

  “Sure.”

  As Fairchild left, Zack gave him a half-wave, half-salute, already looking around to see who else was there. Zack was perfectly correct in assuming that Fairchild wasn’t intending to take his advice. At least Rose wasn’t going to be in Tokyo. That was one less thing to deal with, at least.

  Chapter 5

  Not having much of a choice, Rose went home, if you could call her neglected West Ealing flat a home. The streets looked even greyer than she remembered, some half-hearted Christmas glitter rendering everything else even more dull. Her flat was cold, dim and musty, the furniture worn and unloved. London in December. Great.

  She phoned her sister-in-law. Realising she didn’t even have a mobile number for her, she rang their house landline. Fiona picked up.

  “Hi Fiona, it’s Rose.”

  An incredulous pause. “Oh. Hi, Rose.”

  “How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  The small talk wasn’t taking off. Rose could hear children’s voices in the background. “Listen. I got a postcard from James.”

  Another stunned silence. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one.”

  Rose was prepared for some frostiness. She was probably the worst aunt in the history of aunthood, and with Fiona it was all about the kids. “Well, that’s what I’m calling about. Have you heard from him recently? It seems that he’s in Japan.”

  “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

  A pause elicited nothing further. “So, he went there for a conference then decided to stay a few extra days. That’s what the postcard said.”

  “Well, I expect that’s what he’s doing, then.”

  “So that’s what he’s said to you?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that, no.”

  “Well, how would you put it, then? You’ve heard from him, right?”

  The next pause was more telling. “Why are you so bothered, Rose? You’ve never shown this much interest in a postcard from James before.”

  “I’ve never had a postcard from James before. Never. In the entire shared history of our lives. Have you?”

  “Well – no.”

  “He works in IT. He had email before anyone had heard of email. He does everything electronically. And then he goes to Japan for no more than a few days and the thought occurs to him to send a postcard. Do you not think there’s something strange about that?”

  “Well, what would you know, Rose? When did you last see your brother? Or any of us? He could have grown a second head for all you care.”

  “And has he? I mean, has he been behaving uncharacteristically recently? Has anything changed? Any problems or anything?”

  The silence had become hostile. “No. Everything’s fine.”

  By which she meant none of your business. Fiona had a point, but this wasn’t helping.

  “Look, Fiona, I know I haven’t been around as much as I might have. It is quite difficult with the overseas—”

  “Oh yes, I know all about the job. Diplomatic service, very important. How could we forget?”

  “All right, but that’s beside the point now. When did you last speak to James, or hear from him?”

  She was reluctant, but answered. “He was supposed to come home Saturday, but he didn’t show. I got some weird email saying he was going to stay on a few days. He didn’t answer his phone or reply to my email. So I left it.”

  “Fiona, that was almost a week ago!”

  “He said it was a work thing. They’ve got an office out there, the firm he works for.”

  “This email you got, you said it was weird. What was weird about it?”

  “I don’t know, it just – didn’t sound like him.”

  “So he is behaving out of character then.”

  “I don’t know, what’s out of character?”

  “Well, some might say going to a conference on the other side of the world then not coming home again might fit the bill.”

  “Look, I’m not going to take lessons in family relationships from you. You’ve got other priorities, you’ve made that perfectly clear. I’m sure James is just busy with work and will be on his way home soon. Now, I have to leave. You’ve phoned in the middle of Sophie’s birthday party. Thanks for remembering, by the way. If there’s anything else, email.” She hung up.

  Rose sat and absorbed all this, looking out of a dirty window onto the railway line below. Sophie’s birthday! Rose didn’t do birthdays, she’d said that before and thought they were okay about it. Well, James was, anyway. Her lifestyle was too unpredictable. If they wanted her to contribute to a present or something, they could ask. How old was Sophie? Seven, eight, nine? Something like that. And the other one? Henry, that was it. Probably eleven or twelve by now.

  Fiona wasn’t telling her everything, that was clear. Hopefully they weren’t having some major bust-up but there were tensions for sure. Fiona was angry, with James as well as Rose. But whatever was going on there, James wouldn’t miss his daughter’s birthday party for a work junket, even in Japan. At least, the James she knew wouldn’t.

  Chapter 6

  As it seemed that this trip to Tokyo would turn out a bit longer than expected, James felt the need to pop to the shops. His hotel room seemed to be getting smaller by the hour. The phone conversation he’d just had with Fiona made him – well, uneasy didn’t quite cover it somehow. He was getting a little short of ideas. A breath of fresh air, now that might get the brain ticking over, mightn’t it? Couldn’t do any harm, anyway. So he grabbed a few things and took the lift down.

  No point asking at the front desk for guidance. He’d tried that once or twice before and came away with nothing but bemused looks and polite laughter. Just have a walk-about, James. See what there is. Find your inner adventurer. Seems like you have a need for him right about now.

  He turned off the main road into a side-street. Seemed there was as much going on in the little streets as the big ones – more, even. He looked up. The houses were, how to
put it, a bit ramshackle. Not that they were falling down, but compared to the solid brick rectangles at home they seemed more rickety somehow, with their panelled walls and heavy-looking tiled roofs. Telegraph lines looped from one to the other, so low overhead you could almost reach out and touch them. A string of lanterns led the way down the street, glowing in the dusk. Plenty of people, the odd car, but as he tried to say to Mirai, Tokyo didn’t roar, like London. Instead it tinkled and beeped and chimed from out of every shop door. And the moon! There was something odd about it, hanging low in a part of the sky he’d never seen it in before. It was all very modern, but at the same time very Asian.

  The sliding door of a Seven-Eleven made way for him as he approached. Might as well see what they’ve got. The hotel room service menu was rather limited. The shop assistants chorused some kind of welcome, at least he assumed that was it, odd they did it without even looking round at him. James browsed. A lot of unfamiliar stuff here. They certainly went for colour and cartoons. He used to love comics when he was a boy. Would he have time to find a manga shop? Probably, the way things were going.

  He perused a fridge full of rice balls. Round, square, triangular. Some covered in seaweed. Some with a kind of colour code on the packs, no idea what that was about. May as well go for a couple of triangular ones. Give these things a try when you have the chance. They didn’t look very substantial though. A yeasty savoury smell drew him to a counter where all kinds of things floated about in trays of brown liquid. He watched the guy in front point to a few of them and walk off with a polystyrene bowl of noodles and various other bits. If it was a matter of pointing, he could probably manage that.

  At the front of the queue the assistant peered up at him and giggled. That happened a lot over here. He tried to enter into the spirit by grinning back and pointing to one or two of the objects that most closely resembled food. Whatever he picked, the assistant seemed to find it hilarious. Then the boy stood there with James’ selected oddments in the bowl. Now James had to persuade him to add some noodles and soup and put the lid on, then he could be on his way. He’d rather thought that part of the process was automatic, but clearly not.